Rich Landers: It’s all funny business when this club meets

The Royal Wulff and Renegade Benevolent Society’s regular spring business meeting on Cutthroat Creek was a masterpiece of perfect timing, as usual.

The Memorial Day weekend crowds were gone, river levels were down, water temperatures and hatches were perking up – and great strides were made to advance the science of fly fishing before this latest bout of inclement weather turned the region’s gourmet trout streams into biscuits and gravy.

In a major break of Society tradition, Virgil Emery was able to have his fly rod assembled, the line threaded and the tippet tagged with a Royal Wulff even before the meeting was called to order, owing to the fancy rod hanger he’d installed inside his Suburban.

Such snobbery is allowed only because Emery doesn’t mind wet waders on his leather seats.

Nevertheless, much was accomplished on the travel portion of the session after a stern warning was issued to Emery. It was explained that should he try to get a head start on the membership for the first cast at Cutthroat Creek, Sgt. at Arm’s Length Bill Bennett, who is 2 feet taller than anyone in the Society, could be unleashed to squash him into the streamside mud to commune with the larval form of a Stimulator.

“I didn’t know the Stimulator was patterned after actual bugs,” Emery said.

First order of business: Problem spouses.

“I used to be able to stash a Moose Drool in the back corner of the refrigerator and rest assured it would always be there when I needed it,” I reported. “But my lovely wife, Meredith – a model of good virtue, her tongue unstained by coarse language – has been taking little sips of my dark beer for so long, she’s starting to like it.”

“How far have things deteriorated?” Emery queried gravely.

“I came home after a fishing trip and found a Perrier in the Moose Drool corner.”

The gavel had to be rapped a dozen times before order was restored in the Suburban.

“You think you have problems,” Emery consoled. “My lovely wife, Julie, has developed a taste for my cigars.”

Action: Forwarded to the Fly-Tying Vice Committee.

Second item: Spring’s toll on fishing hats.

Emery provided charts, photos, receipts other evidence from his personal investigation into the loss of fishing hats early in the stream season.

“Your buddy steps off the bank where he said he waded and caught all those trout last summer and he forgets the water’s deeper this time of year,” he said with the authority of a man who’s submerged himself into the investigation. “From the bank, all you see is the guy’s hat floating down the river.”

Action: Motion approved to add hat chin straps to the Society’s dress code.

Third item: Honorary RWRBS membership for Sandra Day O’Connor.

Background check was reviewed and it was noted that O’Connor displayed good character while fishing on probation with the Society on July 19, 2005.

Emery dissented, wondering whether the retired Associate Supreme Court Justice met the Society’s intellectual standards.

“My God, she entered Stanford University at 16, advanced to Stanford Law school as an undergraduate, graduated second in her class and took all of her law clerks fly fishing at least once a year,” I said.

“As I pointed out,” Emery replied, “maybe she’s too smart for the Society.”

“It would be good to have a member who can provide legal interpretations on the fishing regulations,” I noted. “Even though she’s the only fishing companion I’ve ever had who can honestly afford Gore-Tex waders, she prefers wet wading. And when we stopped at a service station for refreshment on the trip, her snack of choice was beef jerky.”

“But would it be appropriate for our Society to induct a fly fisher who goes by ‘Your Honor,’ ” Emery probed.

Action: Referred to Swing Vote Committee.

Third item: Truth in fish stories.

“I’ve just received a report that Al Payne says he caught a 22-inch cutthroat on a Turk’s Tarantula in the Bridge Hole,” I revealed.

Action: Debate was deliberate and brief. The Fins and Finance Committee authorized funds to buy Al a tape measure.

All the coffee cups were empty by the time the research portion of the meeting was called to order. After all, there’s no quick way to Cutthroat Creek.

From its headwaters in Montana, Idaho, Wyoming and Canada, Cutthroat Creek flows through a state of mind. Although we parked the Suburban near a fine fishable stream, Cutthroat Creek is always up the trail a piece, away from frustrations and beyond reach of vehicles.

Bennett led the way and we were soon clawing through downfall. We’d already seen moose, but I knew we were finally there when we broke through the devil’s club to an olive-green run of clear mountain water.

Emery and I followed protocol and caught our first fish of the session on Royal Wulffs even though Bennett pointed out the bugs on the water resembled the March Brown affixed to his tippet.

At Cutthroat Creek, the trout are handsome, the anglers smell strong, and the fishing is always above average.